Lee Minho (Roommates) Part 1.

Chapter 1

A/N: Hey guys!! This is ny first fangic so please leave feedback for me, if there's any mistakes or anything I can work on. I would really appreciate it!

Also let me know if you want me to write about anything/anyone else!!

Hope you enjoy!!

Sharing a flat with Lee Minho should have been simple. One lease, two bedrooms, one unspoken agreement to stay out of each other's way. Instead, it felt like living with a hurricane that only knew how to leave destruction behind. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink until I washed them myself. Jackets, shoes and half-empty coffee cups appeared wherever he pleased, as if cleaning up was beneath him. When he was home, silence never lasted long. He brought a different girl over almost every week, and the paper-thin walls made privacy feel like a cruel joke. More nights than I could count ended with me wandering empty streets, waiting for the flat to become bearable again. Most days he was gone training or fighting as a boxer, but somehow the few hours he spent at home were enough to make the place unbearable. Every glance became a challenge, every conversation an argument. If there was one thing we agreed on, it was this-we couldn't stand each other.

The front door slammed open.

"You're drunk again?" You sighed.

He scoffed, tossing his keys onto the counter. "Still awake? Get a life."

"I live here." You snapped back

"Unfortunately."
He muttered before slamming his bedroom door behind him.

"Ass" you narrow your eyes at the door, shaking your head.He came storming out as you stand up.
Pins you against the wall "what did you say?." He stares at you, like he was seeing deep into my soul.

The wood of the wall digs into your shoulder blades through your thin t-shirt, the sharp edge catching on your spine. Minho smells like cheap beer and cigarettes, the scent hitting your nose the second he presses in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your jaw.
His forearm presses firm against your throat, not cutting off air, just heavy enough to remind you he can hold you down whenever he wants. His pupils are blown wide, dark enough that you can barely see the brown of his irises.

"I asked you what you said."

His voice is low and rough, graveled from drinking, and his thumb brushes accidentally against the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

"Nothing." You turn your head away from him
He doesn't let up, the forearm against your throat pressing just a little harder, enough to make you swallow thickly. His other hand comes up to frame your jaw, forcing your head back around to face him. His knuckles are scraped and calloused from training, rough against your soft skin.

"Bullshit."

His breath fans over your mouth, and you notice suddenly how close his lips are, how his gaze drops to yours for half a second before snapping back up. The room goes dead quiet, no sound but both of your breathing.
"Say it again. C'mon. I know you've got a big mouth when I'm not looking."

You try to push him off of you.
Your hands press hard against his chest, but he doesn't move an inch. He's solid muscle from years of boxing, all hard lines and dense weight pressed against you. A sharp, barking laugh huffs out of him, and he leans in even closer, so your bodies are pressed flush from chest to thigh.

"That all you got?"

His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate, and the laugh dies in his throat when you go still under his touch. His pupils blow wider, and for a beat he doesn't say anything at all.